Some of the best pictures, bought when he purchased the Manor, hung in the great hall and the library, but here were his favourites. They included six watercolours bequeathed to him by a grateful patient. The bequest had been totally unexpected, and it had taken some time for him to remember her name. He was grateful that she had obviously shared his prejudice against foreign ruins and alien landscapes, and all six showed English scenes. Three views of cathedrals: Albert Goodwin’s watercolour of Canterbury, a Peter de Wint of Gloucester and Girtin’s Lincoln. On the opposite wall he had hung Robert Hills’s painting of a view in Kent and two seascapes, one by Copley Fielding and Turner’s study for his watercolour of the arrival of the English packet at Calais, which was his favourite.

He let his eyes rest on the Regency bookcase with the books he most often promised himself to reread, some childhood favourites, others from his grandfather’s library, but now, as often at the end of the day, he was too tired to summon energy for the symbiotic satisfaction of literature and turned to music. Tonight a particular pleasure awaited him, a new recording of Handel’s Semele, conducted by Christian Curnyn with his favourite mezzo-soprano, Hilary Summers, glorious sensual music as joyous as a comic opera. He was putting the first CD into the player when there was a knock on the door. He felt an irritation close to anger. Very few people disturbed him in his private sitting room, and fewer knocked. Before he could answer, the door opened and Flavia came in, shutting it sharply behind her and leaning against it. Apart from her cap, she was still in uniform, and his first words were instinctive.

“Miss Gradwyn. Is she all right?”

“Of course she’s all right. If she weren’t, would I be here? At six-fifteen she said she was hungry and ordered supper—consommé, scrambled egg and smoked salmon, followed by lemon mousse, if you’re interested. She managed to get most of it down and seemed to enjoy it. I’ve left Nurse Frazer in charge until I return; then she’ll be off duty and will drive back to Wareham. Anyway, I’m not here to discuss Miss Gradwyn.”

Nurse Frazer was one of his part-time staff. He said, “If it’s not urgent, can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“No, George, it can’t. Not until tomorrow, nor the day after, nor the day after that. Not until any day when you condescend to find time to listen.”

He said, “Will it take much time?”

“More time than you are usually willing to give.”

He could guess what was coming. Well, the future of their affair had to be settled sooner or later, and with his evening already ruined it might as well be now. Her outbursts of resentment had become more common of late but had never before occurred while they were at the Manor. He said, “I’ll get my jacket. We’ll walk under the limes.”

“In the dark? And the wind’s rising. Can’t we talk here?”